Raoul Whitfield

Sinners’ Paradise

I

Hobart Sickler grinned broadly at his wife. But Helene Sickler did not manage her usual smile in return. It was a bit beyond her this morning.

“Scotch,” Hobey stated in a placid voice, “is a bad drink for women of your type, Pinky.”

Pinky was Hobart’s pet name for his wife. She possessed such cute little toes, and there had been a time, two years ago, when he had delighted in sitting on the edge of her bed and playing with them. Pinky had come, somehow, out of this habit.

“My type?” Helene’s voice was a trifle weary. “Why my type in particular?”

Hobey chuckled. He was rather inclined towards a definite stoutness, and it seemed to Helene that in the last year he had dropped back into his old ways-before marriage ways.

“You’re too temperamental,” he stated lazily. “It affects you too much.”

Helene remained silent. Her head was splitting, and she felt completely exhausted. And then, in spite of these facts, she remembered that tonight Jimmy Weare was giving a party at the Romany Inn. She smiled.

“Run along to your business, Hobey,” she returned sarcastically. “You are late as it is-and with the weather bad it will take you an hour to get in.”

Her husband smiled. “Shall I return tonight,” he asked casually, “so that I may write a few cheques for you, dear?”

But Helene was not up to his jocular mood, and she missed completely the heavy undertone of his words. Hobart Sickler was near the edge-and his wife did not notice it.

He rose leisurely from his chair at the table in the breakfast-room. Thirty-five, a trifle flabby, too good-natured, Hobart was not a particularly imposing human. But he was not as stupid as his wife imagined. For a year now he had been observing Pinky in the process of breaking loose, and had not interfered. But now-

“Leave me the closed car,” she was saying in her morning-weary tone. “Delatante’s coming over later. He’s found an old farmhouse somewhere on the Island-and he wants to show me some antiques.”

Hobey frowned. “Antiques?” he said slowly. “Are they so rare in these parts?”

His implication was obvious, but Helene disregarded it with a sigh. Delatante dabbled in art, painted a bit-it was even rumoured that one of his oils had been exhibited in Boston. He was tall, dark and handsome-and quite consistently broke.

But that never seemed to matter. He travelled with the exclusive, lively element of Long Island. He borrowed a limousine here or there; somehow he always managed to get everywhere. Better still, Delatante was interesting.

Hobey gestured impatiently with his hands. He moved slowly towards the threshold of the sun-parlour. But suddenly he stopped, faced his wife.

“Pinky,” he said slowly and quietly, “you’ve got to cut it out. I’m getting pretty tired of this business. I was talking with Sam yesterday, and he feels the same way about Tiny. It’s got to stop.”

Pinky was staring at her husband in utter amazement. Was it possible that Hobey meant what he was saying?

Tiny Fenwick was her best friend, her best woman friend, at least. And Hobey had been talking to her husband, Sam. That was simply disgusting!

“Why, Hobey,” she managed to say, her eyes upon his, “you’re talking foolishly. What do you expect me to do all day while you’re in the city? Sit and read the latest philosophical books, have no social life whatever?”

Her husband grunted. “Sit and read the latest scandals among your friends, you mean,” he returned. “As for ‘social life’-I guess you have plenty of it.”

“I do,” she admitted, “because I won’t allow myself to grow old.”

“Meaning that I am allowing myself to grow old?” Hobey asked.

Helene’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly,” she replied.

Her husband muttered something under his breath that she did not catch. There was a grim smile on his face.

“All right!” he said decisively. “If I’m growing old it’s worry about you that’s causing it. I’ve a business to attend to, and plenty to think about. I don’t object to your playing around with women-and there are some decent men around here, too. But I’m getting pretty sick of this fast, noisy nightclub crowd that you and Tiny are running with. Sam’s getting sick of it, too. You can go a bit too far, you know-and it’s our money that you’re spending.”

“Hobart!” Pinky got to her feet, her eyes flashing. She was rather stunning in her dark, Oriental way, and anger gave her a hot, quick beauty that her husband was not accustomed to seeing.

“It’s true,” he went on. “Night after night. Parties here, parties there. The same old thing. Delatante and that Italian, Grutti, George Standing, Louis Fenway. Rotters-all of them!”

“They are not rotters!” she protested hotly. “You know they are not!”

“I know nothing of the sort!” Her husband had raised his voice. Pinky was surprised to see such an exhibition of his temper; her husband was usually a very calm man. But he continued to talk now, his words booming out into the room:

“But I do know that this business must come to an end. I want you to stay away from Romany Inn, from that section of the Island. It’s getting to be a joke-for those who aren’t mixed up in it. Do you know what the columnists are calling that section?”

Pinky shook her head. She was terribly angry, and her eyes showed the fact.

“’Sinners’ Paradise’,” her husband informed her “That’s what they call it.”

Pinky threw back her dark-crowned head and commenced to laugh. Her laughter was silvery, and considered by many quite beautiful, but it was evident that her husband would have disagreed at this moment. Finally she stopped. There were tears of mirth in her eyes. She stared at her husband.

“’Sinners’ Paradise’,” she repeated, still chuckling. “Oh, Hobey-that’s too good!”

“It is,” he agreed, in a hard tone, “but not the way you mean it. It’s too good, too airy a title to give that bunch of night clubs. ‘Fools’ Paradise’ would have been better. But that’s aside from the point. I warn you, Pinky-you must keep clear of cafe society. If you do not-“

He broke off abruptly, dropping his hands at the sides of his immaculate grey business suit.

Pinky drew herself straight. Her husband was threatening her! Actually threatening!

“If I don’t keep away-what then?” Her voice was sharp, pregnant with anger.

Hobart Sickler shrugged his shoulders.

“Then I’m through with you,” he said, and walked out through the sun-parlour. Five minutes later, Pinky thoroughly astounded, heard a machine move away from the elaborate drive.

In the back seat was her husband, already reading the morning paper and-worst of all-he had taken the limousine!

II

“It’s ridiculous, absurd! Just because some of the newspaper columnists term that little neck of land in the Sound ‘Sinners’ Paradise’, because some ‘blurb’ writer has to earn his salary-Hobey tells me I must drop out of things.” Pinky curled kittenishly on her divan, glared at Tiny Fenwick.

“Don’t get so angry at me, Pinky,” Tiny retorted. “Haven’t I just been through the same thing? I tell you, sure as the dickens, your Hobey and my Sam have gotten together and decided to make us safe for democracy-or something like that. It’s utterly silly!”

Tiny Fenwick was small and blonde. Her husband was a rather big fellow, and Pinky had always thought them thoroughly unsuited. But she liked Tiny, and they were almost always together. Pinky had cultivated Delatante, while Tiny had shown a strong liking for Louis Fenway.

They were not in love with Delatante and Fenway-but Sam and Hobey were businessmen. Business was a bore, particularly when it tired husbands so that they did not care to run about at night. What were the gay lights of Romany Inn, the Halfway House, Scarabin’s, to tired husbands? They were certainly not a lure. Hobey and Sam detested them.

And they both had plenty of money. Of course, Pinky and Tiny spent considerable of their incomes, but neither believed that it was necessary for her husband to devote so much time and so much serious thought to business.

“The thing is,” Tiny continued, stretching herself beside Pinky on the divan, “what are we going to do about it? I know Sam will be furious, wild-if I go to Jimmy Weare’s party at Romany Inn tonight. And Lou’s coming for me at nine. Sam’s off for Chicago. But it’s a masquerade-and how will anyone know?”

“Know what?” Pinky reached for cigarettes, and they both lighted up.

“Know that I’m there,” Tiny replied. “You are supposed to be going with Delatante. Are you?”

Pinky hesitated. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Hobey was awfully angry when he left-and he’s a good sport in a way. But he’s lots older, of course, and he doesn’t like running around. I wouldn’t want to break with him.”

“Bah!” Tiny blew a cloud of smoke above her yellow hair. “He’ll never know you’ve gone, if you do as I’m going to do.”

Pinky’s dark eyes were upon Tiny’s. She saw that her friend had made up her mind that she was going to Jimmy’s party.

“What are you going to do, Tiny?” she asked.

“I’m going!” her friend replied. “In spite of the fact that Sam said he was sick of my running around, and would move his office to Chicago and leave me here-if I went tonight.”

She chuckled. “But Sam’s never going to know that I went,” she stated, winking. “And after this party I’m going to be a good little girl for a while. Stay home and work crossword puzzles. Read whoever’s in style-“

“How are you going to do it?” Pinky interrupted. She had heard Tiny tell of reforming plans before.

“Going to reverse the procedure,” Tiny stated triumphantly. “I said a minute ago that Lou was coming for me. He’s not, actually-I’m going for him.”

“Going for him?” Pinky echoed.

“Just that,” Tiny returned, chuckling again. I’m going to drive over for him in the roadster, picking him up at Charlie Carlyle’s place. My maid hasn’t seen my costume, and I’ll dress alone. It’s a simple one, thank the Lord!”

Pinky smiled. “It sounds great,” she agreed. “I’m going as a pirate-or I was going as a pirate. Ninette hasn’t seen the costume because it hasn’t arrived yet from the city.”

“Fine!” Tiny chuckled. “You can work it the same way, Pinky. Can’t you pretend you’re sick, and sneak away from that husband of yours?”

Helene Sickler frowned. Suddenly she jumped from the divan.

“Oh, Tiny!” she exclaimed. “I forgot. Hobey has a banquet at the club. I remember now-he told me yesterday that he’d be out for dinner. He’s going to change at the club!”

“Exquisite!” Tiny breathed. “Perfectly marvellous, dear! We’ll run away together. You get Delatante to go over to Charlie’s place. I’ll stop here, noiselessly, for you at about eight-thirty. Get Ninette away. Your butler won’t say a word. That’s the beauty of them. And in your pirate costume no one can be sure, positive, of your identity. Delatante and Lou will be the only ones who actually know.”

“Yes, but-“ Pinky broke off abruptly.

“But what?” Tiny demanded. She tapped the ashes from her cigarette with a graceful motion of her little hands.

“When we unmask,” Pinky said slowly. “Everyone will know us then.”

“Don’t be silly,” Tiny returned. “You don’t think I want to lose my happy home, either, do you? Sam’s all right. But nothing doing on the unmasking, Pinky. The answer is simple-we don’t unmask!”

Tiny laughed in her silvery voice. “Jimmy says the party will be fast and furious and he wants to make it a real party. Things have been a bit slow, he thinks. No one unmasks until two o’clock-and we shove off at a quarter of the fatal hour. How’s that?”

Pinky smiled. “Sounds cheerful enough,” she agreed, “and I’m all for it. I’d like to fool Hobey, he made me pretty mad this morning. But I-“

“Another ‘but’!” Tiny interrupted, in an impatient tone. “What now?”

“Hobey’s not in Chicago, you know,” Helene responded. “And the chances are that he’d return from New York before two. I’d be caught getting in, of course. He always kisses me goodnight.”

“Good Lord! Does he do that?” Tiny grimaced. “He’s worse than Sam, then.” She shook her adorable head. “These old-fashioned men!”

They both laughed. But Tiny was serious again. For several moments there was silence.

“I have it!” Sam’s wife suddenly declared. “What could be sweeter? You are lonely-so you phone your Hobey at the office, and tell him that you are going over to my place. You suggest that he stay in at the club for the night-you’re feeling miserable and think you’ll stay with me.”

“But won’t he be suspicious?” Pinky questioned.

“Of course he will,” Tiny replied. “But what of it? He’ll call up the house, most likely, and if it’s before I’ve left I’ll say that you’re lying down, resting-that you’re going to stay all night with me. If he calls up after-well I have Koti to say that we’re both retired children, and that he would hate to disturb us. He’s really my boy, you know, although Sam doesn’t know that. I’ll say I’ve given Koti enough dough.”

Pinky was smiling. “It’s a chance we’re taking,” she said slowly, “but I do want one big party before I settle down. And I have an idea that Jimmy Weare’s will be lively.”

“Lively? That’s not the word,” Tiny contradicted. “Terrific-that’s more like it. Then you’ll go, Pinky?”

Helene Sickler nodded her head. “I’ll go,” she said quietly.

“Wonderful!” Tiny did a rumba in front of the divan. “We’ll have a perfectly marvellous time. Call up your husband now-see how he takes it. Remember, my place for the night. You’re sick and lonely. But don’t let him rush back to you.”

“Rush back?” Pinky laughed. “Do they do that these days outside of the movies? He was rushing away the last I saw of him. But I’ll call him.”

They walked into the reception hall, and Helene picked up the telephone. While she was calling the number, Tiny was executing a continuation of her dance. But she broke off suddenly.

“Don’t talk too light-heartedly, Pinky,” she warned Helene. “Remember, you’re sick.”

Pinky nodded. She heard Hobart’s heavy voice over the wire.

“This is Pinky,” she said, in a weary tone. “I feel terrible, dear-and I’m going over to Tiny’s. I’m so lonely.”

She heard him grunt something unintelligible, and continued. “I think I’ll stay with her tonight, Hobey. You might stay in at the club. Your banquet won’t be over till late-and I expect to climb into bed with Tiny very early.”

“All right,” he replied, with astonishing brevity. “If you’d cut out the parties, you might feel better. I’ll stay in. See you tomorrow night.”

“All right, dear,” she replied. “Bye, bye.”

“Bye,” he muttered gruffly, and hung up. She guessed that her husband was still furious over the morning scene.

Tiny was still dancing her jig as Pinky hung up. Her face was framed in one gorgeous smile. She caught Pinky by the arm, and they both danced a few quiet steps.

“All set!” Tiny stated happily. “What’s that name the newspapers have given our party neck-of-woods?”

“’Sinners’ Paradise’,” Pinky returned, laughing. Now that the way was clear, she felt vastly pleased.

“’Sinners’ Paradise’,” Tiny mimicked. “I do hope there’s lots of little sinners at Romany Inn tonight!”

“Me too,” Pinky agreed. “It may be our last chance to sin with the rest of the bunch!”

III

Delatante helped Helene back into Tiny’s closed car. They had just arrived at Charlie’s place, and had picked up Lou Fenway and Del. Charlie was shoving off later, and they did not see him.

Everything had gone splendidly. Koti had definite instructions. Pinky had driven her machine over to Tiny’s at seven, taking a small bag containing her costume. She would spend the night with Tiny, of course.

Both Pinky and Tiny were already masked. Their fur coats hid the costumes beneath. Delatante was attired as a devil. Lou as a slender and quite ferocious cannibal.

He jerked the machine into action, with Tiny sitting close beside him. Delatante produced a flask from his overcoat pocket, and at the same time a sinister object flashed to the car’s floor-rug.

“Del!” Pinky saw that it was a revolver, but Delatante quickly stuck it back in his pocket and resumed the process of unscrewing the top.

“No use taking any chances,” he whispered to Pinky. “There’s been quite a few hold-ups around here lately, and I usually carry it with me.”

Helene nodded. After all, there was no harm in Del’s having a gun. Neither Tiny nor she was wearing any jewels, but there had been several motor hold-ups in the vicinity of the neck of land on which were scattered many road houses.

“What’s Tiny supposed to be?” Del questioned, steadying himself as he poured the liquor into the unscrewed cup-cover. “I know you’re a pirate bold; she told me.”

“Bold is right,” Pinky returned. “And remember, Del-you must never breathe a word of this to anybody.”

“Not a word, Pinky,” Delatante replied. He looked quite handsome in his diabolical make-up. “Again what is Tiny supposed to be?”

“A nymph,” Pinky returned, smiling. “And a summer, warm-weather nymph, at that.”

“Not so much in the way of costume, eh?” Del grinned, and handed her the cup-top of the flask. “Just a starter. Pinky. Jimmy’s the one who is supposed to have the real stuff.”

Pinky swallowed the contents, made a face and laughed. And then she made another face.

“As bad as that?” Del questioned. He poured out another drink for Tiny, who was pretending to howl for it.

“Worse,” replied Pinky, but she shook her head. “No, I guess it’s not bad,” she told him. “I’m not a drinker, you know-and I can’t get used to it.”

“You don’t want to get used to it,” Delatante stated seriously, as he handed the cup to Tiny. “When you get used to it there’s not so much fun. I’m used to it, and I don’t get half the kick I got in the old days.”

There was a general laugh. Tiny drank, made no comment, and Del poured out a brinker for the driver. Lou was in great humour.

He drank with practice and ease, and then half turned his head towards Pinky.

“Say,” he demanded, “didn’t I meet you in St Louis?”

There was a groan at this, but ancient as Pinky knew the thing was going to be, she went through with her part.

“Not I,” she replied seriously. “I’ve never been in St Louis.”

“That’s right,” Lou shot back. “Neither have I. It must have been two other-“ A chorus of groans drowned his anticipated ending.

“That’s as old as Jimmy says his liquor is guaranteed to be,” Del remarked, getting down the last drink of the first round.

“Listen,” Tiny stated slowly. “This is going to be Pinky’s and my last party for a while. We don’t want it to drag, but you two must stay sober. We’ve got to leave before the unmasking. Remember!”

“Can’t we get under the weather a bit-and then sober up in time?” Lou pleaded in such a serious, grieved voice that Tiny relented.

“It’s all right-if you sober up in time,” she stated. “You’re taking a chance, too. If our husbands learn about our being at the Romany, they’ll probably start after both of you. So it’s up to you to protect yourselves.”

“We leave at quarter of two-and, we leave sober!” Delatante spoke convincingly. “I’m not anxious to be shot at by angry husbands.”

Pinky laughed. The machine was streaking over the Long Island road, but it rode smoothly. Del commenced to pour the second round.

A cluster of lights flashed behind, as Pinky lifted her voice in song.

“Scarabin’s,” Lou shouted. “We’re on the Neck now. Fifteen minutes and we’ll be at the Romany.”

“For I’m a pirate bo…ld, so bo…ld!” Pinky was feeling fine, her red lips parted. The mask over the upper portion of her face made her more alluring than ever. The others joined in the chorus. They sped on, bound for Romany Inn, and Jimmy Weare’s party. Both Tiny and Pinky had forgotten their husbands. Why not? It was to be their farewell party.

IV

A yellow spotlight streaked down upon the long, narrow dance floor of the Romany Inn. The dance floor was crowded; costumes were striking, gorgeous in colour and line. The spotlight became purple. Music from the Southern orchestra flared out from the raised platform at one end. Dancers swayed to it, bent with it, jerked with it.

Pinky, held tightly in the arms of Delatante, was enjoying herself hugely. Del was a magnificent dancer, and the music was wonderful. She felt herself gripped by the spirit of the carnival, the spirit of jazz music-and adventure.

“’Lo, Jimmy!” Del called out, as a short, stocky figure danced close to them. There was no possibility of Jimmy Weare disguising himself. His friends were many, and in spite of his depressing, gloom-costume of the much-caricatured curfew maker, he was hailed from all sides. His mask was no mask for Jimmy.

He waved back. “Who is she?” he howled in his deep voice, making no attempt to disguise it.

Del shook his head, and Pinky smiled. She did not travel, had not travelled, in spite of what her husband thought, so much with Jimmy Weare’s set. They could not penetrate her disguise. She was slim and of medium height, and there were many other women of similar build on the dance floor.

And yet she was having all the fun she could desire. Twisting her head, she caught a glimpse of Tiny, dancing with Lou. Tiny was having a great old time, and her costume was one of the sensations of the party.

“Feel lively enough?” Del spoke a bit thickly, but he was able to dance in his excellent manner.

“I feel like what I’m made up to be-a pirate,” Pinky returned.

“You’ve already stolen my heart-and made my conscience walk the plank,” Del returned, laughing.

“Oh, Del-not that!” Pinky rolled her eyes roguishly.

Delatante groaned. “Not that,” he muttered. “Don’t look at me that way, Pinky. I feel as though I want to rip that mask from your face and kiss you on those laughing lips of yours.”

“Don’t!” she warned. “That would give the whole thing away.”

“I know.” He grinned at her. “I was simply telling you how I felt. By the way, you’ve the next dance with Haverstraw. He fell in love with your costume and persuaded me into giving you up for a whole dance.”

The music crashed into a dynamic finale. It was the third encore of the piece, and the dancers walked slowly from the floor.

“Haverstraw?” Pinky repeated the name. “Isn’t he the man who has just figured in the papers in the Denton shooting?”

“The same and only gentleman,” Del replied suavely. “He’s nice, though, and you are only dancing with him, you know.”

Pinky laughed. “Oh, I don’t mind that,” she stated. “He’ll be interesting. I don’t often have the chance of dancing with a murderer.”

Del looked startled. Even his mask failed to hide the expression in his eyes, the thin line of his lips.

“Not necessarily a murderer, Pinky,” he returned. “That’s a bit harsh-pretty heavy. He had some reasons for shooting Denton-and he didn’t shoot to kill, you see.”

Pinky laughed again. “I’ll be careful, Del,” she returned. “I won’t accuse the dear fellow of being such a person.”

“That’s it,” her companion replied, as they neared the table at which Tiny and Louis Fenway were already seated. “Keep away from the subject, and you’ll have a good time. Haverstraw’s a good enough fellow, and he’s clever, too.”

“Greetings, demon and pirate-maid! Join us in the gulping festivities-or don’t either of you care to indulge?”

Lou smiled at them as they dropped into their chairs. A babble of voices filled the long room; it seemed hardly less silent now than when the orchestra was playing.

Clowns and athletes, porters and columbines, strikingly costumed males and females strode about the tables, crossed the dance floor. Laughter was the chief voice of the party, and some of it was becoming quite unrestrained now.

Suddenly the lights were dimmed. The long room was plunged into absolute darkness. Giggles, a few oaths of surprise and a good deal of laughter rose from those seated about the table.

A brilliantly yellow spotlight shone down upon the centre of the dance floor. A saxophone wailed. Into the spotlight rushed a feminine figure. Pinky suppressed a gasp of surprise. There were “Ohs!” and “Ahs!” from the tables.

The figure was clad only in a thin veil of scarlet material. She was very beautiful, and she commenced a dance that was thoroughly charming. The spotlight followed her; it was the only splash of colour in the room.

The music was working itself up into a whirl of passion. It raged, sent notes into the comparative silence in a perfect fury of sound. But the dancer kept pace with it. She was whirling now in the centre of the polished floor. Her hair was golden and long. It swirled out behind her, and then, as she reversed, covered her face.

But she was kept whirling-and the orchestra kept raging. Del leaned towards Pinky. Their table was almost in a corner at the far end of the room. She felt herself jerked towards him; her lips were being pressed against his before she realized what was happening.

The lights flashed on; there was a burst of applause. She twisted herself away from Delatante amid the laughter of the few who had witnessed what little the lights had shown.

She was furious, so furious that she could not speak. Del was grinning sheepishly. She raised her fingers to her mask. It had slipped down a little but had not, fortunately, exposed her face.

Finally she spoke. Tiny was slapping Lou on the back as if the whole thing was a tremendous joke.

“Don’t you dare to do that again, Del!” she warned. “If you do-I’ll walk right out of here, do you understand?”

Her sharp tone of voice sobered him. “I’m sorry, Pinky,” he said, in a low tone. “It was the music and the lights being out. It won’t happen again, dear.”

“Don’t call me ‘dear’!” she commanded. She was very angry. If Hobey should ever hear of the thing-if it should ever become known that she was the pirate-maid whom several persons had seen being kissed by a well-garbed devil-well, there would be plenty of explaining to do.

Tiny shoved a drink towards her. “Come on, Pinky,” she shrilled. “Don’t go dead on the party. Remember, this is our farewell-“

“Not so loud,” Pinky ordered. “And don’t call me Pinky if you have to yell. There are probably enough people here now who suspect who we are. We don’t want them to know it.”

“That’s right,” Del agreed. “Let’s tone down a bit. I’m not dancing the next one-I’ll go out and have a smoke. We’ve got an hour yet-it’s only a quarter of one.”

“My next dance is with Ulysses,” Tiny announced, laughing. “At least he’s wearing a lot of armour.”

Lou chuckled. “You’ll be all bruises tomorrow,” he grinned. “I have an idea that Ulysses doesn’t even know he’s away from Troy or Ithaca-or wherever he used to hang out.”

The music flared into being again, as a tall man, attired in the patched costume of a tramp, touched Pinky on the shoulder.

“Hello, Stella,” he said, rather eagerly. “Knew you the first time. My dance, eh?”

Pinky shook her head, amid the laughter of her three companions. “I’m not Stella,” she said slowly, disguising her voice by speaking in a drawl. “And the next dance is taken.”

The new arrival grinned down at her from beneath a red mask. “You win,” he replied, in a light tone. “Stella never said that little at one time in her life. Sorry, she was supposed to be Peter Pan.”

Tiny was screaming with laughter.

“She’s not Peter Pan,” she informed the tramp. “She’s a pirate bold.”

The tramp stared at Pinky and then joined in their laughter. “My mistake,” he apologised, as he moved away. “I left my glasses on the library table.”

Tiny vanished with a careless “Adios!” Her Ulysses was soberer than Lou had evidently given him credit for being.

Del had risen and was introducing Pinky to a finely attired gentleman of the French aristocracy. His powdered wig was slightly slanted on his rather large head, but it detracted little from the dignity of his whole appearance.

“A pirate bold-oh, Duke!” Del laughed, and Haverstraw led her out into the swirl of the dance floor.

“The evening is a merry one,” she stated. She found herself anxious to hear what sort of a voice the murderer of Richard Denton possessed. He had only bowed when introduced.

“The morning gives promise of being gay,” he corrected, in a rich, baritone drawl.

“It is morning,” she agreed. “And time all good little pirates were in bed.”

He swung her to the left quickly, in order to avoid collision with a college professor who was trying something too intricate in the way of dance steps with a Pandora who had evidently not lost many things besides hope.

“And time good little wives should be in bed, too,” he supplemented.

Pinky felt a quick twist of fear strike within her. Did he recognise her? But how could he? She had never met him before. She decided that he was simply trying to be clever.

“And good little husbands?” she questioned archly. “Shouldn’t they be in bed, too?”

He laughed pleasantly. It was difficult to think of him as a man who had shot down Denton. But probably, she thought, it was as Del had said. He was not, inherently, a murderer.

“Husbands,” he said quietly, “should be allowed certain privileges their wives can’t enjoy.”

“That seems to be the general opinion-of the husbands,” Pinky returned, smiling. “But the wives do not always agree.”

“So I notice,” Haverstraw returned, and the tone of his voice sent a little shiver through Helene Sickler.

There was a conversational silence for several minutes. The floor was fearfully crowded, and there was an atmosphere of freedom in the place. Haverstraw danced fairly well, but without particular fervour.

“And your husband?” he suddenly said. “Where is he tonight?”

Pinky held herself in control. “It’s hard to say,” she commented. “There are five clowns here-and three of them look very much like my clown.”

Haverstraw laughed. “Nice,” he commented, “but you should give him credit. It’s likely he knew there would be many in clown costume-and simply made it more difficult for you to keep track of him.”

“He’s not that wise,” Pinky returned.

“Don’t you believe it,” her partner stated. “All husbands are wise-some of them so much so that they make their wives think they are stupid.”

Pinky felt another queer little stab of fear inside of her. Haverstraw was talking in riddles but they were vaguely annoying-and she wondered just why.

“You should know,” she shot back, quite obviously.

She felt Haverstraw tighten his grip upon her. The music was playing softly, and with the perfect beat of the super-jazz orchestra.

“I do know,” he replied grimly. “And it cost me something to find out.”

“In money?” she persisted.

He laughed. “A wise little pirate was she,” he said, in a quoting manner. “I see my table is unoccupied. Would you care to sit and drink this out-and listen to a story in which I feel you are interested?”

Pinky was about to decline, but she was interested in the Denton case, and she felt that Haverstraw would tell her something about it. And, too, she was a trifle tired. A drink would help.

“I’d love to!” she replied recklessly.

He smiled, and led her from the floor. His table was at the opposite end of the room from the one at which Pinky had been seated. And there was champagne. Jimmy Weare was a good friend of Haverstraw’s, she remembered. He had testified for him at the trial.

They seated themselves, and Haverstraw pulled his chair close to Pinky’s. The champagne was excellent, fairly seemed to sparkle her into a more vivid awareness of the gaiety of her surroundings. The place was a flare of colour, noise, excitement.

Haverstraw took her hand. “Pretty,” he commented. “Shall I start at the beginning?”

“Do!” Pinky urged, making a slight effort to pull her hand away. But she did want to hear his story-so she let him hold her hand. He commenced to talk, his face close to hers. She was beginning to feel just a bit dizzy.

V

Balloons were floating down from the balcony that surrounded the room. They were blue and gold and red. Pinky blinked at them. Haverstraw was still talking in a monotonous drone. But he had not told her what she had wanted to know, had come to hear. He was, perhaps, a little beyond that.

She felt a desire to get back to their own table, to Tiny and Del and Lou. And she was also commencing to feel a swift regret. She and Tiny should never have come to this party.

The crowd was too lively, too fast-in the first place. In the second place, it was very likely that their husbands would be incapable of understanding. Hobey, she thought, would be rather doubtful, even if she told the truth-told him that it was a farewell party, and that Tiny had urged her to go.

She could not distinguish Haverstraw’s words, but was suddenly aware that both of his arms were around her. Somehow, she got to her feet. Balloons were drifting everywhere; she brushed one away from her face.

“What’s the matter?” she heard Haverstraw saying. “Thought you wanted-“

She turned away from him. They were dancing, and she was bumped several times as she walked, with a fair degree of steadiness, towards the opposite end of the room.

Suddenly, just as she had reached the end of the polished floor, she felt herself jerked about by Haverstraw.

“What’s the rush?” he said casually. “I’m not through telling-“

“Let me go!” she ordered. “I’m going away from this place. “I’m sick of it-sick of all the noise and the people. Let me go!”

He laughed shortly. She could hear him more clearly now; they were farther away from the orchestra.

“It took you quite a while to get sick of it,” he reminded. “And quite a bit of my champagne, my dear.”

She tried to get away from him, but he held her tightly. “One more dance,” he begged, “and then you can go. Be a bold, brave pirate.”

Pinky was aware of the fact that he was mocking her, but that did not matter. She twisted violently, but he held her. They were attracting attention. She saw Delatante coming towards her.

A swift panic gripped her. Del had a gun; he had probably brought it with him. And Haverstraw was quick-tempered-and a murderer!

“Please let me go,” she begged. “I don’t feel like dancing.”

“That’s all right,” Haverstraw commenced. “Let me see who you are? Kind of like you, bold pirate.”

He made a motion as though to lift her mask, but she evaded him… She caught a glimpse of the red cloth of Del’s Satanic costume.

“Make him let me go, Del,” she begged. “He’s had too much to drink-doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

There was a sharp crack; she felt her wrist free of Haverstraw’s grip. Turning around, she saw Haverstraw stretched on the floor. Delatante was standing over him, his fists clenched.

She started to run towards the table and Tiny, but the staccato crackle of a revolver jerked her about. She caught the gleam of a gun in Haverstraw’s right hand, and saw Delatante sway above him.

Haverstraw had fired from the floor! The place was in a wild turmoil. There were screams, hoarse cries. Men rushed towards the prostrate Haverstraw and the swaying Delatarite, obscuring Pinky’s vision.

She started once more towards the table. Stumbling, her eyes wide, she reached Tiny’s side. Lou was not present.

“They’ve killed Del!” she sobbed hysterically. But curiously enough she was not thinking as much about Del as she was about the publicity-and Hobey’s ultimate discovery of the fact that she had lied to him, and had come to the place.

“They? Who?” Tiny was holding her by the shoulders. “I heard the shot-what happened, Pinky?”

Helene sobbed the story incoherently. “We’ve got to get away,” she urged. “They’ll take care of Del-there’s nothing we can do. Lou can get a taxi outside. They always wait there-a few of them. Oh, Tiny-I wish we’d never come. I wish we-“

She broke off abruptly. Tiny was dragging her away from the table, towards the retiring room. She got a glimpse of the crowd, still gathered about Del, she supposed. The costumes seemed an incongruous blending of colour now, an irony.

She wondered if Delatante had been killed. Haverstraw was a good shot. That had been brought up at the trial. The chances were that-

“Where is Lou?” Tiny was demanding, interrupting her train of thought. “I haven’t seen him since you left with Haverstraw and I with Ulysses.”

“I don’t know,” Pinky returned. “But we can’t wait, Tiny-we must get away from here. What if Del talks? Tells who we are?”

“He won’t,” Tiny returned. “He’ll be too careful of himself. Brace up, Pinky. We’ll be home in half hour.”

Pinky stared into the mirror. The maid brought her coat, helped her into it. She felt years older than when she had come in. There was a faint buzzing in her ears. She could not distinguish Tiny’s voice from the maid’s but she could hear their words, as though from a distance.

“Come on,” she urged, as Tiny jammed on her hat. “Hurry, Tiny-we must get away.”

“But I must put this hat on,” Tiny remonstrated, “and my eyes are none too clear.”

Pinky jerked her away from the mirror. Her own eyes seemed staring at things through a thin blur.

“We should never have come,” she muttered, as they moved out of the room, their costumes hidden beneath the long coats. “If Del or Lou talk-“

“They won’t,” Tiny replied. “I tell you, they’re too careful of themselves.”

“But Del may be dying,” Pinky returned, “and he’d tell the police-or somebody.”

She shivered as they went out through a side door towards the parking place. The night was chilly.

A form loomed up in front of them. Tiny cried out.

“Lou! We were looking for you. You’ve got to get us away. Del’s been-“

He nodded his head and led the way towards Tiny’s car. Through a blur, Pinky saw that he had his overcoat on, and his hat. And, evidently, he knew that Del had been shot. His mask was still on, and his blacking for the cannibalistic makeup.

“We’ll both ride in the back seat,” Tiny exclaimed, helping Pinky in before her. Pinky sank down in the soft cushions. She felt as though she were about to faint. And Del was lying back on the polished floor.

A vision of Haverstraw-with the gun in his hand-flared before her eyes. She shuddered, and Tiny held her tightly with both arms.

“Why don’t we start?” she asked Lou.

He did not reply, but Tiny soothed her. “He jumped off the running-board as he was getting in,” she said. “I suppose he forgot something.”

Pinky was sobbing as though her heart would break. Again and again she reproached herself and Tiny for having come. “Del may be dead!” she repeated over and over.

“He may be,” Tiny agreed, “but it isn’t likely. The chances are that Haverstraw had been drinking too much to be able to aim very straight.”

A figure lurched up to the car, and jerked open the door. It was garbed as a tramp, but looked somewhat the worse for wear.

“That Stella in there?” the man demanded. “She’s got on a Peter Pan costume, and you dropped this.”

He offered Tiny Pinky’s small turban, which she had dropped on the way out.

“Been looking mos’ everywhere for Stella,” he went on, blinking nervously from behind his mask.

“You keep right on looking,” Tiny advised. “This is part of our pirate costume. Your Stella’s probably inside.”

“Inside?” The tramp shook his head. “Never find her in there. Too much excitement. Fellow just got killed.”

“Killed?” Pinky jerked herself upright, staring at the tramp.

“Killed dead!” the fellow repeated solemnly.

“You run along,” Tiny advised. “This isn’t Peter Pan, and I haven’t the slightest idea where she is.”

The tramp bowed, muttered something that sounded like an apology, and closed the machine door, walking towards the inn.

“Killed!” Pinky repeated. “Oh, why doesn’t Lou come? Can’t you drive, Tiny? I want to get away from here.”

Tiny patted her hands. “I wouldn’t want to try driving,” she replied. “Although I feel pretty good. But we can’t run off without Lou very well, and that fellow probably didn’t know what he was talking about.”

“He said he was killed,” Pinky groaned.

“He said he was ‘killed dead’,” Tiny corrected, “and that means that he didn’t know what he was saying.”

More figures moved beside the car, the front-seat door was opened. Lou climbed in, squeezed himself behind the wheel.

Pinky straightened in her seat; her body became rigid. Delatante had climbed in after him. She saw that he was handling his left arm with care. He did not speak.

The machine moved slowly from the parking place; the lights of Romany Inn faded behind them.

Pinky leaned forward. “Del,” she questioned, “are you hurt? Did he shoot you?”

He shook his head, but did not turn in the seat. Tiny soothed her, turning the collar of her coat up about her neck.

“There,” she cheered. “I told you that fool couldn’t shoot straight. He had been drinking too much, Pinky. And besides, you can’t kill Del-he’s too tough.”

“But they’ll talk,” Pinky returned, recovering somewhat from her astonishment. “They’ll find out, in some way, who I am. I know they will.”

She was silent for several minutes as the machine sped along the smooth road.

“I think I’ll go to Hobey, Tiny-and tell him the whole truth,” she said suddenly. “He may believe me-and I’m sick and disgusted at the thought of what we’ve done.”

“He may believe, is correct,” Tiny returned. “And then again-he may not.”

There was another silence. Both men sat motionless in the front seat. It was evident that they were too disgusted with events to speak.

“I don’t care,” Pinky finally said, with determination. “I’m going to tell my husband. He may not believe-but he’s going to know the truth. I’m through!”

“Pinky!” Tiny was staring at her. “You mustn’t. I’d like to tell mine, too-but we can’t. Don’t you see?”

“I don’t see-and I’m going to tell!” Pinky was sitting straight. She felt better, having made the decision. “I lied-and I’m sorry.”

The machine slowly jerked to a stop. Del moved his head around, lifted his hands to his mask. Pinky screamed. It was not Del-it was Hobey, her own husband!

Tiny was speechless. The driver faced her, his mask down. Sam Fenwick!

Hobey chuckled. “Well,” he demanded. “Glad to see your husbands? We got you out of a nasty mess, didn’t we?”

Both women were unable to speak. Pinky felt as though her throat were paralysed. Tiny was still staring at Sam, who was grinning.

“You don’t know as much about valets as you think you do,” Sam stated impassively. “He gave me the details and I called Hobey, who sort of figured Pinky was up to something. A phone from Chicago prevented my leaving-meeting postponed.”

“But how-“ Pinky, staring at her husband, was able only to manage the two words. But he seemed to understand.

“We mixed in-after we got hold of your escorts, who were outside, bragging about their achievements. They were easily convinced that it would be wise to lend us their masks and clothes. Mine’s a rather tight fit, but you didn’t notice it, Pinky.” Hobey grinned. “Sam had to borrow some blacking.

“Haverstraw never hit me. The bullet landed in the ceiling. And that crowd never did find out who I was. Had some trouble getting out, but here we are. Nice party, eh?”

“Oh, Hobey,” Pinky sobbed. “I never want to go on another. I’ll stay-“

“You’re darned right you will!” Hobey grinned. “Right by the radio and fireside. If we hadn’t heard you-both you and Tiny-tell us how you stood, well, things might have been different. But this time we’ll let you off easily, eh, Sam?”

“Guess we’ll have to,” Sam replied. “They had enough tonight to last for a while.”

“Forever!” Pinky and Tiny chorused.

“Let’s shift,” Hobey suggested. He changed seats with Tiny. The machine started. But Sam drove slowly-and with one hand. A cluster of lights went slowly behind.

“The end of the Neck,” Hobey whispered to his wife. “Will you be good now?”

Pinky sighed. “The end of ‘Sinners’ Paradise’,” she said in a low voice. “You just bet I will, Hobey!”

Content

Raoul Whitfield
Sinners’ Paradise

I

II

III

IV

V